"Sacrificing!" he said, "of course she is sacrificing. God save us! You'd be an idiot if you didn't know she was sacrificing a thousand times more than you can even understand. What right had you"-- "Papa," Flossy said, very pale, stepping up to her lover, and clasping her hands about his brawny arm,--"you forget, papa, that this is the man I am going to marry." "Mr. Plant," Burleigh said, lifting his head proudly, and drawing his tiny betrothed close to him, "I never pretended to be worthy of your daughter, and never hoped to be; but she could not find one who would love her better, or be more honest in trying to make her life happy." "Uncle Chris," whispered Patty, taking his arm, "come into the library." "God save us!" he ejaculated, looking at her. "What are you crying for?--There, Mr. Blood, shake hands. Good-night, both of you.--Come, Patty." CHAPTER XXXIX. THE NIGHT-WATCH. "I think, Patty," her mother said as the last word of a long and vain argument, "that you'll end by bringing my gray hairs to a grave in a lunatic-asylum. You are crazy to think of sitting up with Peter to-night. You are tired out with your ride from Boston anyway." "But Bathalina has a sick-headache, mother, and I'm only to stay until eleven. Good-night. I'd rather go." It was the night following Thanksgiving, and Patty had carried out her intention of coming home in the morning. As she walked over to Mrs. Brown's, she seemed to herself to be free from all bodily fatigue, so strongly did her inner excitement buoy her up. She resolutely endeavored to put away all thought of Tom Putnam and the Smithers women; but the consciousness of painful suspicion flowed as a bitter undercurrent through all her musings. The sick man was unusually tractable that night. "I'm afeared, Miss Patience," his wife said tearfully, "I'm afeared he's goin' for it. He hasn't swored at me but twice to-day, and one of them his gruel was too hot." "It was only your soothing influence," Patty answered dispiritedly. "You can go home, and go to bed. I'll watch with him until Sol comes at eleven." Left alone, the watcher seated herself in the shadow, and plunged anew into distracting and painful reveries; but she quickly was called from them by the sick man. "I'd like to ask yer to do somethin'," he said feebly. "What is it?" she asked, going to the bedside. "Frank Breck's been here," he answered, "tryin' to get my pocket-book; and the women-folks are awful curious too." One of his first requests on recovering consciousness had been for this pocket-book, which since he had guarded beneath his pillow. "There's papers in it," Peter went on, "they hadn't ought to see. I want you to keep it for me." "You seem to keep it very well yourself," she said rather absently. "Oh! but it's wearin' on me," he returned. "If it isn't took care of for me, I shall kick the bucket sure." "Why should I take it?"